


As You Wish

by hatcoltwynonna



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s01e09 Bury Me With My Guns On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22909327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatcoltwynonna/pseuds/hatcoltwynonna
Summary: There's too much takeout, so why shouldn't Wynonna invite Doc to share it?  She was going to watch a movie anyway, so why not watch it with him?  She wasn't planning on it turning into sex, but why not take advantage of that mouth of his?Sometimes the worst decisions are also the best.
Relationships: Wynonna Earp/Doc Holliday
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	As You Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Set between 1.09 and 1.10.

Wynonna had made the trek out to the barn so many times that she could do it in the dark. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done exactly that in the early hours of the morning, bottle of whiskey in hand, when Waverly was asleep and unaware, and the moonless night hid her figure in the shadows. He’d been asleep then, still under a thin blanket, and her first thought had been that he must have been cold. 

She’d warmed him up soon enough.

So, if sneaking out to the barn in the middle of the night to have sex with Doc was no big deal, then why was walking out to the barn at an acceptable hour to not have sex with him such an event?

And that was as far into psychoanalyzing herself as she was ever interested in going.

He had the barn door open to catch the last few drops of sunlight, but a lantern was already lit inside, so it was clearly a failing effort. She stood in the open door, silhouetted against the setting sun. 

“Hey,” she said with a casual shrug. It was bullshit, but it wasn’t like he’d expect anything else from her.

Doc was cleaning his pistol—not a euphemism—making the nickel plate gleam like it wasn’t more than a hundred years old. The same could be said of its owner, as Doc looked up with a twinkle in his eye.

“Wynonna Earp,” he drawled with a dimpled smile. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Wynonna had to remind herself that he was not as sweet as his honeyed accent would suggest. She was drawn in just the same.

“Have you eaten dinner?” she asked bluntly.

His smile faded near the eyes, the slightest, almost imperceptible dimming, and Wynonna knew then that this whole thing had been a mistake. Had he really been expecting sex when they’d fucked each other’s brains out hardly more than twelve hours earlier? And, okay, yeah, he probably had, but, if he was so goddamn horny, he could’ve made an effort to come to her once or twice. 

“I have not partaken of the evening meal, no,” he answered.

“I picked up Chinese for dinner, and they totally doubled my order, and, you know, Waverly won’t touch the stuff, so…”

“And Waverly is where, exactly?” Doc asked, his brow furrowing.

“In town,” Wynonna said, and, if her tongue slipped out to lick her bottom lip, it was only because it was dry from the impending winter.

“I see. So it would be only you and I partaking of this unexpected feast.”

“Yeah.” He could be so fucking annoying, so she rolled her eyes and turned to leave. “Take it or leave it, Doc.”

“I would be delighted to enjoy your company for supper.”

“Uh huh,” she said, turning back around slowly.

She led the way back to the house, letting her hips sway ever so slightly more than normal. It was entirely for his benefit, and she didn’t need to look back to feel his arrogant smirk. It was her favorite one of the games they played. She pretended not to want him, and he pretended to believe it. It was a lot more fun than acting like she was going to beat this curse, or that she wasn’t going to fail everyone.

Or the private one, where she pretended this thing with him was just sex.

The food was still bagged on the kitchen table, where she’d dropped it off after getting in from town. Her hands shook as she tried to untie the knot. God, it was just shitty Chinese food. Doc slid up behind her, whisper quiet, and stilled her hands with his own. His body was a block of solid warmth against her; she fought the instinct to lean back into him. He bent forward, his whiskey-tinged breath making her hair tickle her neck. Her own breathing quickened, her heart sped up, and everywhere they were pressed together burned like the fires of hell she sent revenants to. He dropped a hand, letting it skirt against her hip, and, when he raised it again, he sliced through the plastic bag with his bowie knife. 

Just like that, his knife was back in his belt, and his body had left hers. She didn’t mourn the loss, or anything, she just hated that smug smile hiding underneath his mustache. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she wasn’t about to let him win their little game. 

“Sit,” she ordered and was gratified as he complied like an obedient dog. She took the seat opposite, unpacking the little white cartons. She hadn’t been lying about the order, so she set a broccoli beef, a kung pao chicken and a fried rice in front of each of them. Doc regarded her with skepticism.

“I have no idea what any of this is,” he frowned.

Wynonna wriggled her head from side to side non-committally. “No one really does. It tastes good; eat.” She handed him a pair of chopsticks.

He poked at the contents of one of the containers with them, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. 

“Come on, what gourmet delights did you eat back in the day?”

“Beans, mostly,” Doc shrugged, bringing a chunk of beef towards his mouth. “If we were on the trail, coffee and a dry biscuit. You see, the trick was to soak the biscuit in the coffee until it wouldn’t break your teeth.” He smiled broadly, even as the food fell off the chopsticks and back into the container. “I always tried to get Wyatt to take better care of his.”

She couldn’t help but meet his smile with one of her own. 

“Yours are lovely,” he drawled. She felt herself blush, which was stupid because he was complimenting her fucking teeth. He might have well been telling her she had excellent taste in dentists, but there was something in the way he said it that got her heart fluttering more than it should have.

Doc stabbed uselessly at his food with the chopsticks, frowning adorably at the offending utensils. Wynonna’s heart fluttered on at his antics. She was about to take pity on both of them and give him a lesson, but he dropped the chopsticks with a heavy sigh and took out his knife again. He dug in with gusto, using the knife as a scoop. She hoped he didn’t cut himself; it would be a pity to waste that mouth of his.

God, she was going to need more whiskey to get through this.

Doc eyed the bottle with amusement as she poured them each a shot but accepted his and downed it with little ceremony. Wynonna did the same with her own, letting the burn of the liquor remind her that she was not some silly schoolgirl with a crush. She was a woman with needs, and it just so happened that John Henry Holliday was excellently equipped to take care of those needs. It was one thing if the movement of his throat as he swallowed gave her a little shiver, or the way his tongue flicked out to catch the last drop of whiskey on his bottom lip had her thighs quivering, those were just some of the perks of the situation, but it was the adorable furrow of his brow in concentration as he figured out a part of the world he hadn’t yet encountered that really got her worked up. Great sex was a lot more than the way your parts fit together, so—even though his parts were pretty fantastic—it didn’t mean anything that she got all stupid about the way he ate crappy Chinese takeout any more than liking the feeling of his dick inside her did. She was a complicated woman, after all.

Doc was looking at her like he could read her mind, which was a thing he did far too often for Wynonna’s comfort. She was pretty sure immortality hadn’t come with a side of telepathy, but that gaze of his still gave her goosebumps. 

“Eggroll?” she said by way of distraction, offering the little foil bag of them across the table. He took one out of the bag with a smooth, careful movement, regarding it with a little frown. Wynonna forcibly ignored the little leap her heart made.

He took a bite, gingerly, then with more enthusiasm, his frown turning into a pleased little smile. 

“The vast selection of readily available food is one of the greatest benefits of the twenty first century.”

"Simple needs?” she asked with a laugh.

“For a simple man.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“My hat, my pistols, good whiskey, and a beautiful woman.”

“Your hat is over there, and your pistols are in the barn,” she teased. “The whiskey is cheap—”

“But you are beautiful.”

He was staring at her again, his blue eyes intense and fond. She hated that stupid look; it made her forget she was the heir and he was the immortal best friend of her great-great grandfather. Which was especially stupid because she _loved_ being the heir; killing revenants was the first time in her miserable life she felt right. Nothing would ever be more important than that. She couldn’t even stand to look at him anymore. Her appetite all but gone, Wynonna poked at the remains of her chicken, the congealed fat gathering along the edge. She set it on the table in favor of the whiskey bottle. 

“Well,” Doc started, watching her down two shots in quick succession. “This was lovely, but I have imposed on your hospitality long enough.”

“Probably,” she shrugged. She didn’t really want to watch him leave, so she stood up from the table, grabbing the whiskey as she did. He stopped her with a soft touch to the wrist. He didn’t hold her there, but she stayed anyway.

“There is no pressure,” he said, his voice as soft as his fingers against her skin. “I enjoy your company, even without”—his tongue poked out to lick his bottom lip, his eyes tracking hers as they followed the motion—“benefits.”

“Jesus,” she swore, and he leaned down to kiss her.

It was as soft as everything else had been, the brush of his mustache tickling her upper lip. His one hand was still on her wrist, while the other moved to graze against her lower back. He’d caught her with parted lips, and he took advantage of it to slip his tongue inside, even as their lips barely touched. She slid her own against his; he tasted like garlic and whiskey. They hadn’t done a lot of this—kissing just for the sake of it. They had mostly kissed as foreplay, a desperate crash of mouths as they ripped each other’s clothes off, so it was something of a surprise, as she pulled away, to find that it was only the hand on her back keeping her upright. She wasn’t really one for swooning, so she chalked it up to the multiple shots of whiskey she’d drank.

“No pressure, huh?” Her voice sounded like she’d smoked a hundred of Doc’s cigarillos.

“I am simply reminding you what I have to offer,” he smirked.

“Uh huh,” she said dryly. “And now you’re going to spend the rest of your evening in the cold, lonely barn polishing your pistol.”

“Did you have another offer on the table?”

“Well,” she drawled, mimicking his accent. “I was going to settle in and watch a movie until my sister came home, but you probably don’t even know what that is.”

“I have figured out the world of motion pictures,” he replied testily. “Wyatt worked in it near the end of his natural life.”

She mumbled an acknowledgement, tilting her chin up with just enough defiance that he’d know he was not going to get in her pants tonight by talking about great-great-grand-daddy. “Boots off,” she demanded, as they walked through the hall into the living room.

He complied with a pleased grumble, mostly because he always took his boots off before he fucked her, well-known euphemism notwithstanding. They both left their boots on the stand in the parlor, and she led him to the couch, where she made him take off his gun belt, empty as it was of anything but his bowie knife. Waverly’s laptop was already waiting for them, open to Netflix and cued up to the movie. Wynonna gestured to the seat opposite the wall, and Doc sat down, stiff-backed and awkward.

“Not like that,” she said, and pushed his knee until his legs were separated and he was sitting sideways against the arm, one leg bent along the length of the couch and the other still on the floor. Slipping a pillow behind his back, she manhandled him until he was arranged how she wanted him, then settled between his legs. She wiggled her butt a little against his crotch for effect; he released a warm huff of laughter. She leaned against him, balancing the laptop on her lap. He was warm and firm along her back; she grabbed one of his arms and wrapped it around her, so his hand rested snugly against her waist. It was nice. If she tilted her head back, her view was the cut of his jaw and the long line of his neck. She kind of wanted to suck a hickey where everyone could see it, sign her name into his skin like a revenant’s brand. 

“Wynonna?” he said, and the way he spoke her name did nothing to quash the impulse. “The motion picture?”

He looked far too pleased with himself, but even that didn’t make him any less appealing. That realization, at least, was stupid enough to shock her system out of it. She clicked play on the video and let it steal her attention away from the whiskey and tobacco scent of Doc Holliday.

The first shot came on screen and Doc asked, “What’s that?”

Wynonna sighed and paused the movie. “A really old video game.”

“Are you certain this is the best choice for my first motion picture?” he asked uncertainly.

“It’s not about video games, relax. It’s a story in a story, like if you were telling me about some time you sat around the fire telling about your first gunfight. It’s a fairy tale.”

“Are we not both a bit too old for fairy tales.”

“I swear to God, you make me hate this movie, and I will bite your dick off.” She started it up again, and as soon as there was a pretty girl onscreen ordering around her farm boy, Doc was silent and still. She spared a glance upwards at him; his eyes were fixed on the screen, the reflections dancing in the blueness of them as Buttercup and Westley pledged their true love. 

Maybe he was right that this was the wrong choice.

He laughed at all the funny parts, gasped at all the frightening parts, and cheered when the heroes advanced. Wynonna pretty much had this movie memorized but watching it with Doc was like seeing it for the first time. As the man in black and Inigo clashed swords, she hazarded another quick glance at his face. His eyes were shining, and his smile was so wide, his dimples were probably permanently etched in. She hated just how much she fucking liked him. There was only one thing to do. She shut the computer without bothering to press pause and stuffed it under the sofa with little care.

“Wynonna,” Doc protested, then she found the closest swath of skin and glommed onto it with probably more teeth than Doc would have requested. He wisely shut up. She kept sucking as she rolled over, so they were chest to chest, grabbing his side to steady herself and also because she liked the feeling of his trim waist under her hand. She kissed along his jaw line and under his chin. As she surged forward to take his mouth, her knee knocked into his crotch. “Careful, darlin,” he coughed. “If this is going the way I think it is, I am going to need that.”

“Maybe I should kiss it better.”

He let out a long stream of air, his lips pursed and his mustache trembling. The look in his eyes was a lot easier to deal with than before, hungry and clever. She could meet him halfway with this; sex was easy, especially with Doc. Wanting him was a great distraction from anything more complicated. She ran two fingers down the center of his shirt, slowly, circling each button as she came to it, hesitating when she reached the waistband of his jeans. She didn’t want things to move too fast—she did like the game, after all. She grazed the fly with her knuckles; she was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and another display of those dimples she was so fond of. He was getting hard already, the bulge in his jeans growing with even the slightest touch. She contorted herself so she could mouth at it and pressed hot kisses along its length. Her finger teased at the button while she nuzzled one last kiss against his clothed cock, then sat herself up straight and fluffed her hair vainly. 

“Woman,” Doc gasped out. “Do not leave me in this state.”

“I only promised to kiss it,” she shrugged, a wicked smile playing on her lips. They still buzzed from the rough texture of his jeans, and she wiped at them absentmindedly. 

He grabbed at her hands and wrapped them around his neck as he lunged forward. “I’ll kiss you,” he threatened. Wynonna didn’t protest as he made good on it, either, pulling him close and easing onto her back so his weight settled on top of her. He slid one hand down her side to hoist a leg around himself, putting that bulge exactly where it could do some good. Her fingers entwined in his hair as he moved to kiss her neck.

“Hey—keep the suction to a minimum,” she gasped.

“I believe,” he breathed, pulling away just enough to nuzzle behind her ear, “that I am already sporting a love bite courtesy of you.”

“Sorry,” she admitted. “All the more reason for you to restrain yourself. Matching hickeys are like a neon sign saying we fucked.”

He pushed himself away, keeping steady with an open hand flat against the sofa. His other hand was gripped on her thigh, holding her leg in place around his hips. “I did not understand any of that—except fuck”—he punctuated the word with a tilt of his head and a strong thrust against her. “But I will refrain.”

“Uh huh,” Wynonna replied, her complaint already forgotten by the distraction of the added friction below the waist. She took advantage of the distance to start unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers fumbled against the buttons; lust had made her clumsy and impatient. He leaned back on his knees, so his hands were free to steady hers, and then he was shaking it off his shoulders and pulling his undershirt over his head. She was never going to get tired of the view; his body was lean and finely muscled in a way that had nothing to do with a gym. He smiled cockily at her obvious appreciation, then tipped his chin up suggestively. She complied with the unspoken request and tugged her top off.

Doc slid his hands up her sides until his thumbs slid under the band of her bra, easing it up over her boobs until it was a useless tourniquet under her arms. She wiggled out of that, too, then pulled Doc down so they were skin against skin, their mouths meeting through ragged breaths. His hand squeezed between them to fondle a bare breast, thumbing over her hard nipple, and she couldn’t help but release a moan that was a little too _Debbie Does Dallas_ for her liking. Doc took it as the encouragement it was and started kissing, openmouthed and sloppy, down her neck to her collarbone. He continued downward, and she arched her back as he took her other nipple in his mouth.

Doc kept his mouth in place, but his hands continued down her body until she felt the pressure of her jeans release. His mouth finally moved—down her stomach—kissing his way to her open jeans, which she shimmied off with his help. Doc threw them onto the floor with little care, focusing instead on her newly revealed flesh. He kissed her mound as he peeled down her panties, delving into the top of her folds, but as soon they’d been tossed on the pile with the rest of her clothes, he only grazed her clit to instead spread her legs even wider and suck a hickey into her inner thigh. His mustache was bristly and rough against the sensitive skin; there’d be marks for sure but only where no one else could see. That Wynonna liked, just as she liked that this was all secret, private—something just for her. Wyatt’s curse had taken so much from her, but Doc she could take back. He didn’t belong to Wyatt anymore—perhaps he never did. She’d keep him, like this: finally finding her clit with his talented mouth and making her nearly leap off the sofa, or _not_ like this: pistols drawn, at her side, kicking revenant ass. 

He changed technique quickly, keeping her guessing; one minute his tongue circled her clit lazily, then it flicked against it in quick brushes that were as maddening as they were arousing, then slow, long licks that made her legs quiver around him. He kept up that pace, like he understood what every twitch of her muscles meant, licking along her inner lips while his mustache tickled her clit. A thick finger joined the fray; she was so wet it slipped inside her with little friction. He twisted it inside her before adding another finger. They separated to stretch her and traced her walls, finally curving to find her g spot. “Doc,” she moaned, unbidden and low, like the secret this was. His tongue sped up as he pressed at that spot inside her with his fingers. She grabbed at his hair with one hand to keep him there and wrapped a leg around his back, her foot skimming along his bare skin. It changed the angle; he made good use of it and changed his technique again, his tongue insistent against her clit, bringing her closer and closer to an orgasm. 

The tension built up until she was so wound up, a herd of wild horses could have stampeded through her living room and she wouldn’t have noticed. She tugged at his hair; it felt like the only thing binding her to this world. Her head tipped back, her hips lifted off the sofa, and then, the tension finally snapped, carrying her on white waves of pleasure. He worked her through it, his tongue and fingers keeping up their feverish pace. 

Doc rested his head on her stomach while she caught her breath; he pressed soft, damp kisses into the skin there.

“You’re not half bad at that,” she panted, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair. It was matted with sweat and messy from her grabbing at it.

“I do try,” he smirked.

From somewhere in the pile of discarded clothes, her phone made a muted chirping sound. “Shit, that’s Waverly. She’s probably on her way home.” She managed to rouse her orgasm addled senses enough to sit up and shove Doc off her. “Foreplay’s now the main event.” 

“I can go,” Doc offered, his voice strained.

“Not like that,” Wynonna countered, giving a pointed—and lustful—stare towards his still-straining crotch. She found her panties and jeans, taking the phone out of the pocket and confirming that Waverly was on her way. She slid the damp fabric up her still-jelly legs, wincing at the discomfort. Her jeans she managed to pull halfway up, then dropped to her knees in front of the sofa. Doc had never managed to get out of his, so she popped the fly open.

“You know modern underwear exists, right?” she quipped. “I have got to get you a pair of boxer briefs.”

“If you are going to complain,” he pouted, “I can take care of myself.”

Her lady parts showed a bit of renewed interest at the idea of watching him touch himself, but they did not have the time right now for a show. Instead, she tugged the underwear down until his dick popped out. It had waned a bit in the lack of attention, so she grabbed it firmly and gave it a long stroke. He groaned in appreciation. She pushed his chest to lean him back on the sofa and pressed a kiss to his flat stomach. “Have you seen my bra?”

“I believe I had more important matters on my mind than where your undergarments went,” he sputtered indignantly. “As should you now.”

“I can multitask.” She placed a row of kisses along his hip bone. “You should find your shirt, too. Clock is ticking, mister.”

“Then I suggest you get to work.”

“ _Bossy_ ,” she smirked, then finally turned her attentions to his dick again. It curved happily upwards, but she was still lazy from her own orgasm, so she pulled it towards her. His foreskin was retracted, so the head was damp and shiny. It was a pretty dick, as far as dicks went, and, up close again, she was reminded of its generous size. Such a wasted opportunity to only get to suck it tonight, but she’d make the most of it. She closed her mouth over the head, sliding her tongue onto the underside where she knew he was sensitive. She was rewarded with a hand running through her hair and settling on the back of her head. His thumb rubbed in a small circle, and it was almost tender. She wasn’t going to let that distract her, however. Quick, perfunctory blow job, that was the plan; thank him for the mindblowing orgasm he gave her by giving him one of his own—nothing more. It didn’t help that she liked the thickness of him in her mouth, the way her lips had to stretch around his girth, the salty, earthy taste of him, the way his thighs tensed when she did something he liked. Her eyes flicked up to his face; his eyes were closed in bliss and his lips were turned up in a smile. 

She pulled off with a lurid sound, wrapping her hand around his length instead and pumping slowly from base to head. She mouthed at his inner thigh, threatening to leave marks of her own there. With her other hand, she fumbled around the floor behind her. It made contact with something lacey, so she grabbed it and pulled it in front of her eyes. It’s not like there were a lot of clothes scattered over her living room floor—she wasn’t a slob—but she was grateful nonetheless to see her bra. She rubbed the lace against Doc’s thigh, which earned her a pleased chuckle. She maneuvered the bra over her head with her one free hand, but she had to let go of his dick to pull it into place over her boobs. 

“You need to be getting dressed, too,” she admonished, as he watched her with a mix of amusement and lust. “Where’s your shirt?”

He pointed behind her at the pile of clothes where she had found her bra. She grabbed a handful of fabric and threw it onto the sofa next to him.

“I would rather not ruin it.”

“I’ll swallow,” she promised.

“Well,” he grinned. “In that case, I will be happy to comply.”

“ _Perv_ ,” she said and licked one of his balls. She grabbed his dick again but didn’t start sucking until he’d pulled his tank over his head. She stroked him with her hand, base to tip; his foreskin slid forward, adding extra friction. She pulled it back and took the head in her mouth again, while she circled it with her tongue. Her lips strained around his shaft as she took him in as deep as she could without choking. It hit the back of her throat; she thanked God for her lack of a gag reflex. She pulled back again to poke her tongue at the slit, before repeating the whole thing. Soon his hips were making erratic little thrusting motions, so she let him fuck her mouth while her tongue worked at him.

“Wynonna, darlin’,” he choked out, and she peered up at him. His eyes flicked open, catching her gaze. She should have looked away, but their eyes were locked on each other. She gave one final lick to the underside, keeping her eyes glued on his. He let out a rough groan and came inside her mouth in salty spurts. She kept her promise and swallowed it all, working him through it with her hand and tongue. When she pulled off, a final droplet of cum dribbled onto her lip. She wiped it off with her thumb, then licked up the last of the evidence with an obvious flick of her tongue. Doc let out a low whistle. “You are something,” he drawled.

His shirt was on, but askew, one sleeve half off and the front twisted. Wynonna stood up, her knees groaning with the effort, and pulled her jeans all the way up. She buttoned the fly, zipped the zipper, and leaned over Doc on the sofa, where she grabbed the front of his shirt and straightened it. Her own top was next to him where she’d tossed his clothes, and she tugged it over her messy hair. “Can you zip up yet?” she asked. 

He regarded his flagging dick with skepticism. “If you would like to see me cry.”

“I’m going to clean up dinner or something,” she shrugged. 

“No evidence of any of it, I suppose?” he asked darkly.

She sighed in frustration and crossed to the kitchen where what was left of their dinner was still all over the table. Grabbing a glass of water to rinse her mouth out first, she dumped the leftovers in the food waste and stacked all four of the take-out boxes for the trash. The glasses she put in the sink, not bothering to wash them, as Wynonna drank enough herself to explain those away. By the time she’d finished straightening the kitchen up, she could hear tires on the road. “That’s probably Waverly,” she shouted into the living room, only to nearly run into Doc as he joined her in the kitchen.

“This door?” he asked; he nodded towards the door to the mudroom.

“Thanks,” she said, shrugging awkwardly. “For everything.”

“Mm hmm,” he hummed, then dipped down to kiss her. His mustache was soft against her mouth and still vaguely damp. She reached up to run a finger across his cheekbone and deepened the kiss just enough to nuzzle her nose into his. They separated, and he slipped into the mudroom just as the front door opened. Wynonna headed back into the living room where she felt a brief burst of gratitude that Doc had straightened things up out there.

“Hey, Waves,” Wynonna said casually, as if she didn’t have the taste of Doc Holliday still on her tongue. “Everything go okay in town?”

“Uh, yeah, just doing some research,” Waverly answered chipperly. “What have you been up to?” 

“I just watched a movie,” Wynonna shrugged—it wasn’t entirely a lie, at least. She gestured over to the sofa where Doc had put the computer back. He’d even arranged the blankets casually, as if one had slipped off Wynonna’s shoulders when she stood up. If she hadn’t known better, she might have doubted that anything had happened at all.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” Waverly asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Wynonna answered. “You go ahead. I still have the rest of my movie to watch.”

Waverly smiled at her and headed for the stairs. The computer was ready and waiting for Wynonna to finish her movie, but she couldn’t make herself sit down. She glanced out the window; the barn glittered in the moonlight, but there was no sign of movement. Doc was already inside, safely out of sight. He had a bed out there, and it may have been made of straw, but it was more than Wynonna had. She glanced down at the sofa where she slept more often than not, and part of her wanted to join him out there. She could tuck her head between his shoulder and neck, splay her fingers out along his flat stomach, and fall asleep with the smells of gunpowder and tobacco tickling her nose. It was so tempting she had to hold onto the arm of the sofa to keep herself from bolting for the door. 

Maybe someday.


End file.
